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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579862">The Odds of Us</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingorbits/pseuds/chasingorbits'>chasingorbits</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bicultural/Biligual Castiel, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mind Meld, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Castiel, Original ABO Concept, Past Abuse, Past Castiel/Jacob Styne, Stalker Jacob Styne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:56:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingorbits/pseuds/chasingorbits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Work, savings, investments, Sammy - that’s been Dean's modus operandi for as long as he can remember. Now, at 30 years of age, he can’t help but wonder if this truly is all there is to his life.</p><p>Enter Castiel.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Humongous, meet Odd.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an <strong>original ABO concept</strong>, so I strongly recommend reading the piece I wrote on worldbuilding details <strong><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819067">here</a></strong>.</p><p>All art on this fic was made by me. I <strong>do not</strong> authorize reposting anywhere without my express consent!</p><p>This fic came very close to never being posted, but recent events have pushed me to finally let it see the light of day. Hopefully, you'll grow as fond and attached to these characters as I have. </p><p>I'll <strong>try</strong> to keep a weekly posting schedule, but please keep in mind this is a WIP and some chapters might take longer than others to be posted! </p><p>Please make sure to keep "Show Creator's Style" turned on.<br/>
</p><p class="dean">
  <em>
    <strong>Green is for Dean's thoughts.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p class="cas">
  <em>
    <strong>Blue is for Castiel's thoughts.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>I'd like to thank the wonderful psyleedee (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyleedee">ao3</a>, <a href="https://psyleedee.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>) for being so gracious and supportive and giving me such useful advice. ❤️</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Say I'm the shit."</p><p>Dean perks up in his office chair. “Show me.”</p><p>“You wanna try that again?” Billie asks, cupping her ear.</p><p>He rolls his eyes. "You’re the shit, <em>whatever.</em>”</p><p>"Keycard, parking info, it’s all here,” she says, dropping a folder on his desk. “You made a district judge very angry, so my advice as your attorney is don’t pull anything that lands you in his courtroom."</p><p>Dean scoffs, looking over the papers. “Fuck him. Dude’s got four kids and still drives a sports car—he’s an asshole.”</p><p>“And you’ve been judging people by what they drive since we were little.”</p><p>"Cars never lie," he argues. "Besides, Judge Judy can find himself another fuck-pad. This is Sammy’s dream place.”</p><p>“I think you mean this is <em>your</em> dream place for Sam.”</p><p>“Same difference.”</p><p>Billie chuckles, checking her wrist watch. "I have to go. Date night—Victor's cooking.”</p><p>Unspoken horror passes between them.</p><p>“Well, don’t eat it if it moves. And tell the boogeyman I said hi.”</p><p>She snorts, walking out the door. "You have to stop calling him that."</p><p>Dean leans back in his chair, tension rolling off his shoulders. It's been a long, nasty bidding war for one of the nicest condos in Lower Manhattan. He managed to weed out most of the competition in a couple of weeks - all except for Judge Dickhead. He sent Billie in for the kill today, and a kill it was. People don't call her Ice Queen for nothing. </p><p>“Yo! Earth to <em>Ginormica</em>.”</p><p>Dean looks up to find Charlie in her after-work getup – checkerboard slip-ons, bright yellow jeans and a Pokémon tee.</p><p>He arches an eyebrow. "Monsters vs. Aliens, really?"</p><p>"You're 6'8'', dude," she points out. "Gotta know my references."</p><p>"Whatever you say, <em>Charmander</em>," he retorts.</p><p>“Now <em>that's</em> inaccurate—I’m a water Pokémon."</p><p>“Looks like your hair didn't get the memo."</p><p>She ignores his jab, nodding at the files on his desk. “What’s that?” </p><p>“Papers to Sammy’s new place."</p><p>“You nabbed that fancy condo?!”</p><p>Dean nods, rolling his eyes when her smile grows wicked. “No housewarming parties.”</p><p>Charlie’s face falls. “Am I that predictable?”</p><p>“Like the weather.”</p><p>“Bad analogy. It's hot as balls outside, and we're in <em>February</em>.”</p><p>“I kinda like the heat, to be honest.”</p><p>“Speaking of heats...” She sits on the edge of his desk, a smirk tugging on her lips. “I’m taking that leave we talked about.”</p><p>“You sure? ‘Cause last time...”</p><p>“So we had a few setbacks, big deal. Not like triggering this thing's easy, dude. We’ve been on Control since we were 16.”</p><p>“I know. I drove you to get your first shots, remember?” Dean reminisces. </p><p>It’s crazy how fast suppressants like Control went from overregulated and unaffordable to highly accessible, over-the-counter drugs. These days even getting a job can hinge on whether you’re on them - most employers aren’t looking to hire people who’ll be out of commission for as long as a week every few months. Dean’s no such employer, but then, his business philosophy does fall outside the mainstream.</p><p>“Well, it's coming this time, I can feel it. We almost got kicked out of Olive Garden yesterday.”</p><p>“Not sure where to judge you here—stinking up public places with your horny musk or going to Olive Garden.”</p><p>“That’s rich coming from the guy who’d live in a Wendy’s if he could.”</p><p>“Wendy’s always gets a pass.” Dean eyes her for a moment. "You’re really doing this, huh?”</p><p>“Hell to the<em> yeah</em>,” Charlie says, a spark in her eye. She and Jo have been married for years, but mating is a whole different ball game. Dean was shocked to learn about their plans – the idea didn’t quite go with the modern mindset they've always espoused.</p><p>The science of mating is primitive and unclear, but thoroughly documented. Somehow, sharing a mutual heat is all it takes for two people to become tied on a biological level. Dean himself is a product of it. He witnessed firsthand just how in sync his parents operated, and that’s the catch - such a connection makes you extremely vulnerable to the curveballs fate might throw your way. That's something else Dean also witnessed.</p><p>Charlie gives him a sad look. “You don’t believe in it anymore, do you?”</p><p>He lets that to go unanswered, mind retreating to the ever-present, soothing buzz in the back of his head.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Dean drives to Manhattan after work. The original plan was to tell Sam about the condo on his graduation day, but now, Dean's not sure he can wait. He just had a feeling about the place ever since he first saw the listing for it. Doesn't hurt that it's also within walking distance of the law firm Sam's landed a job offer at and not far enough from Dean's New Jersey home to make visiting difficult.</p><p>Traffic is what you’d expect at rush hour, but he doesn’t mind being behind the wheel. Besides working on cars, driving them is his favorite thing to do. It's like second nature, muscle memory taking over and leaving his mind free to reflect. He usually takes this time to go over mental to-do lists, like next steps in a business venture or what groceries he needs to pick up from the store. Tonight, however, his brain takes the unusual route of sending him on a trip down memory lane, pushing every choice he's made in the past ten years to the forefront.</p><p>After Mom died, his father was in no shape to run the family's auto repair shop. Dean had to stop out of school and take up the mantle as John deteriorated, a bottle of Jack never too far from wherever he'd pass out. Then one day, he went on a beer run and never came back. Part of Dean was actually thankful for that - at least he and Sam wouldn’t have to deal with the fighting anymore.</p><p>In the span of a decade, he managed to grow the family business into a multistate operation, the country’s largest in high-end auto customs. It’s been more than enough to bankroll Sam’s college life in California, get a great home and attain the kind of financial stability most people only ever dream of.</p><p>As to his personal life, well. He has a small, tight circle of friends, and he doesn’t date much. Work, savings, investments, Sammy - that’s been his modus operandi for as long as he can remember. Now, at 30 years of age, he can’t help but wonder if this truly is all there is to his life.</p><p>Dean reaches the Tribeca area in little over an hour. He pulls up to the building’s basement parking gate, punching the code into the keypad.</p><p>An odd giddiness takes over his senses as he steers through a sea of luxury vehicles. He finds the right parking space after what seems like forever, pulling into it before he kills the engine. He just sits in the car for a while, trying to will away the weird feeling of imminence that has the hair on his arms standing up.</p><p>Across the parking lot, he spots two people having what looks like anything but a friendly chat. Despite the glaring size disadvantage, a petite figure holds their ground, chest puffed out defensively as a much larger individual aggressively waves their arms.</p><p>Dean’s out of the car before he even knows it.</p><p>A quick look at the scene tells him the full story – white Lamborghini Truck backs out, blue DB5 hits it head-on. Somebody had been very distracted.</p><p>“I understand I'm at fault here, and I'll gladly pay for damages, but under no circumstance will I allow you to speak to me that way.”</p><p>The distinctive voice sends a jolt of electricity shooting down Dean’s spine.</p><p>“Well, guess what, <em>sweetheart</em>—”</p><p>“Is Randy here giving you trouble, mister?" Dean interjects, stepping in between them.</p><p>“And who the hell are you?” 'Randy' barks out. He looks like your typical gym rat, and while exceptionally broad and tall, Dean beats him both in size and stature. If it comes to it, he can easily rearrange his stupid face.</p><p>“I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass unless you cool it, pronto.”</p><p>“How about you mind your own business? My car just left the dealership and this bitch went and—”</p><p>Dean sees red. He grabs the asshole by his jacket and slams him so hard against his truck the shock alarm goes off.</p><p>“What the f—you—” the man stutters, color draining from his face. “Y'know what, man? I'll just text you my Venmo.”</p><p>The guy scrambles into his car, tires screeching as he peels out. Dean watches the scene in utter bewilderment.</p><p>“So that happened,” he says, starting to turn around, but a bite of pain in his eyes stops him short.</p><p>“Are you alright?” the voice behind him asks.</p><p>“Yeah, just a little dust...” He winces, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make a scene there.”</p><p>“It’s fine, he was being insufferable. And you’re clearly not alright, let me see.”</p><p>The featherlike touch to his fingers runs through Dean’s body like a dynamite fuse. His eyes flutter open as his hands are gently pried off his face, and the first thing he registers is <em>blue.</em> An impossible amount of it.</p><p>“Hey.” He grins, wide and giddy and dumb. “I’m Dean.”</p><p>The perfect face in front of him melts just a little, full, pink lips curling up at the corners.</p><p>“Hello, Dean. I’m Castiel.” The unusual name sounds fitting in ways he can’t explain. “Your eyes look fine to me. Are you in pain?”</p><p>“Yeah," he replies, and he just can’t stop<em> smiling. </em>"I mean, no. Not like that.”</p><p>Castiel cocks an amused eyebrow. “Do you take constructive criticism, Dean?”</p><p>“I’d take pretty much anything from you.” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. “Shit—sorry, I don’t mean any disrespect. I mean, not that I wouldn’t, y’know, take anything from you, but.” Castiel frowns, head tilting to the side like a confused little bird. “I’m gonna shut up now. Sorry. Just rusty talking to Omegas like you, is all.”</p><p>Castiel’s lips press into a thin line. “Why would you say that?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“'Omegas like me', why would you say that?”</p><p>“Um.” Dean scratches the back of his neck, inadvertently licking his lips as he gives his delectable frame a brazen once-over.</p><p>Castiel crosses his arms, taking a cautious step back.</p><p>
  <em>God, just kill me now.</em>
</p><p>“Jesus, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—” Dean swallows, running a hand down his face. This is going <em>great.</em> “You know what, it doesn't matter. Just know that I'm sorry for…” He finishes that statement by gesturing at his general self.  </p><p>“It's forgotten.” Castiel studies him for a moment. "But I still want to know. What did you mean by that?”</p><p>Damn it. This is probably karmic retribution after all his years proclaiming to be the world’s smoothest flirt.</p><p>Castiel just stands there, regarding him with a piercing gaze. Probably trying to figure out what type of freak he is. It doesn't help Dean can’t seem to keep his eyes from darting to all the places they shouldn't, and God, he hasn’t even seen him from the back yet—</p><p>Dean smacks down that train of thought, guilt stabbing him in the face. What would his mother say?</p><p>A drip of sweat runs down his temple. The last thing he wants to do is shove another foot in his mouth, but there’s simply no good way to say he’s just never seen anyone this—</p><p>“Pretty.”</p><p>Castiel rocks back slightly, as if caught off-guard. “What?”</p><p>He swallows. “With all due respect, you’re just really… <em>pretty?”</em></p><p><em>I’ve seen like a million humans and you’re literally the best one</em>, his mind supplies.</p><p>Dean squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for a smack across the face. It never comes.</p><p>“I think… we should talk.”</p><p>One of his eyes pop open - did he hear that right?</p><p>“There’s something about you, I—” Castiel chews on his bottom lip, looking around. “I can’t do this here. Do you mind coming up to my unit?”</p><p>He nods profusely. “Lead the way.”</p><p>Dean can’t help checking Castiel out from behind as they walk to the elevator. His baggy sweater fails to conceal wide hips flaring out from a deliciously small waist, skinny leather pants hugging a shapely pair of legs and an ass to beg for. He stands at a solid 5’11’’ – average height, but substantially shorter than Dean. Towering at 6’8’’ comes with a fair share of nuisances, but the thought of dipping down or lifting Castiel for a kiss makes all that fade into insignificance.</p><p>They quietly ride the elevator, tension palpable in the small space. Castiel releases a breath when they finally reach the penthouse, doors sliding open with a ping. He steps out into an impressive foyer, proceeding to remove his high-heeled boots. Dean follows suit, scavenging his mind for something to break the thick silence, but Castiel takes off down the hallway before he can say a word. He hangs back for a while, unsure what to do with himself.</p><p>“Dean, will you come in?” he calls out from somewhere inside.</p><p>The apartment is ample and tastefully furnished - clean and classy, but not impersonal. The details make it feel lived-in, like the constellation blanket thrown across the couch and the shark mug abandoned on the ottoman.</p><p>Dean finds Castiel sitting on the kitchen counter, glaring into a pint of Ben&amp;Jerry’s like it personally offended him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>He awkwardly shuffles on his feet. “Um.”</p><p>“You’re Alpha," Castiel says matter-of-factly. Dean opens his mouth, but nothing substantive comes out. “Pardon, would you like some ice cream?”</p><p>“I’m good, thanks.”</p><p>“You didn’t answer my question."</p><p>“I just did.”</p><p>An impatient sigh. “The other one, Dean.”</p><p>“Oh—didn’t think that was a question.” Castiel urges him to continue with a rushed motion. “Yeah, I’m Alpha.”</p><p>He points a finger in his direction. “Exactly!”</p><p>Neither of them speak for an utterly confusing moment.</p><p>“Little lost here, Cas.” The nickname rolls off his tongue like it’s been sitting there forever.</p><p>“I can <em>smell</em> you.”</p><p>Dean folds in on himself, mortified. “Crap, my blocker probably wore off. I got worked up back there and—”</p><p>Castiel holds up a hand to stop him. “No.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>"I’m <em>sterile</em>, Dean,” he says, hopping off the counter to face him. “I don’t have a scent, nor should I be able to scent you.”</p><p>Dean scrambles to wrap his head around that information.</p><p>As far as his knowledge on the subject goes, sterility exists on a spectrum, but broadly means not fully developing into your biotype. It’s rare and without a single cause, and while modern medicine debunked most misconceptions around the condition, a lot still isn't understood.</p><p>"There’s more. For as long as I can remember, I've had this thing, in my head. It’s hard to explain, but—”</p><p>“It’s like a sound, running through you,” Dean cuts in. “And right now, it feels like a damn symphony.” Castiel nods, stunned. “Back there, I felt high, like—”</p><p>“Like you were in some sort of trance," Castiel completes. "Me too. That's why I hit that car. And then I saw you—”</p><p>“And you thought your head was gonna explode."</p><p>A small smile tugs on Cas's lips. "We should probably stop finishing each other's sentences."</p><p>"Yeah, it's getting creepy."</p><p>“Can I ask you something?”</p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p>“How long have we been neighbors for? I don't remember ever seeing you around.”</p><p>“I live in Jersey, actually. Just closed on a unit for my brother here," he explains.</p><p>"I see..." Castiel says, sounding almost disappointed. Dean's keenly aware of his warmth radiating against his body, and whoa, when did they start standing this close in the first place?</p><p>Before his brain can catch up to what he's doing, Dean hunches down, nose brushing Cas’s temple. He’s so lost in the intoxicating electricity dancing between them he almost fails to notice two hands hovering his chest, ready to push him away.</p><p>Dean immediately pulls back. "Fuck, I'm so sorry—"</p><p>"Don’t!" Cas grabs his wrists, keeping him there. "I wasn't going to—I just wanted..."</p><p>"You can touch me, Cas,” he tells him. “You can do whatever you want.”</p><p>Castiel nods, slowly resting a hand on his chest. </p><p>"God, you’re like a war tank,” he blurts out, eyes playing over the wide breadth of his shoulders, gauging him.</p><p>Dean frowns. “Should I be offended?”</p><p>“Probably not.”</p><p>“You’re a little odd, Cas.”</p><p>“And you’re <em>humongous</em>,” he retorts, hand dropping to his side. Dean immediately misses the touch. “I have no idea what this is," Castiel confesses, voice barely above a whisper.</p><p>Dean tentatively reaches out, thumb tracing the slope of his cheekbone. “Does it matter?"</p><p>"Probably not."</p><p>The kiss is as chaste as it is sensual. Castiel tastes like ambrosia, and Dean feels like he's sinking and soaring, choking and breathing, lost and found, all at once. </p><p>A whine drips from Cas's lips and he snaps, lifting him off his feet. Cas wraps his legs around him like he’s been doing it forever, like fitting so perfectly against Dean is in his DNA.</p><p><em>Settle down</em>, he directs the thought at the growing pressure in his pants. <em>You’re gonna look like a fucking creep.</em></p><p>“I don't think you're a creep,” Castiel breathes against his lips.</p><p>“Did you just...?”</p><p>“Listen to your head? Perhaps…”</p><p class="dean">
  <strong> <em>Don’t do it again, my thoughts are embarrassing</em> </strong>
</p><p class="cas">
  <strong> <em>It’s not like I’m trying—you're too loud</em></strong>
</p><p>That, at last, snaps them back to reality.</p><p>"Okay,” Dean pants, head spinning. “What the fuck.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not With Haste</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"God..." Castiel groans when their eyes meet across the room, burying his head back in his hands. "You’re still here."</p><p>“Cas, I’m real." Dean leans back against the wall, his own panic swirling in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>Cas starts pacing back and forth. "No, I must’ve gone crazy. This can’t be happening.”</p><p>“Unless both of us went cuckoo at the same time, I'd say it is," he reasons.</p><p>Castiel stops on his tracks, spinning around to face him. “How are you so calm about this?!” </p><p>“I’m not calm—I’m <em>not.</em> Just trying to make sense of things.”</p><p>“Well, given we apparently just heard each other's thoughts, I have to speculate 'sense' has officially left the room," Cas argues, air-quotes and all. Dean raises his hands palms up. Castiel flops down on the couch, holding his knees against his chest.</p><p>A moment passes without noise or movement, and Dean ponders.</p><p>“Alright, I'm nothing if not practical, so let's try this out." He walks over, crouching down to meet Cas at eye-level. “Think something, anything, and I'll try to catch it.”</p><p>Castiel arches an eyebrow. “You want me to think <em>at </em>you?”</p><p>“You got a better idea?”</p><p>Cas sighs and fixes him with a flat stare. Several seconds go by. Dean hears nothing.</p><p>He shakes his head. “Nada. What'd you think?”</p><p>Castiel looks away, avoiding his gaze. "I thought you feel safe, for a stranger." Dean’s heart does a weird spinning jump in his chest. “Your turn.”</p><p>He nods, emptying his mind of everything but what he wants to communicate.</p><p>Cas’s shoulders sag after a while. “Nothing. What did you think?”</p><p>“First thing that crossed my mind when I saw you.” Dean scratches the back of his neck, just now realizing how corny this sounds. “I thought you looked like music.” Castiel mock-cringes at that, tiny little wrinkles forming at the bridge of his nose. "Shaddup," he mutters, face hot. Cas chuckles, almost <em>fond</em>, and Dean can't help but lean in for a kiss.</p><p class="dean">
  <strong> <em>Part of me feels like I've known you forever</em> </strong>
</p><p class="cas">
  <strong> <em>Me too</em> </strong>
</p><p>They start apart.</p><p>“Okay." Dean shakes his head, trying to physically sort out his thoughts. "Maybe it only happens when we get close. Like, <em>lip-lock</em> close."</p><p>“So we don’t," Castiel says. Everything in Dean balks at the suggestion. “We probably need to find some help.”</p><p>“Cas, who's supposed to help us with something like—” he stops, an idea popping in his head. “Sammy."</p><p>"Who’s that?"</p><p>"My little brother—he used to be into this weird, paranormal crap,” he explains, unpocketing his phone to shoot Sam a quick text. “I never took the stuff seriously, but now...”</p><p>“You think he might know what's going on with us?”</p><p>“Worth the shot. He’s at school right now, but I’ll run this over him.” Dean looks up to find a troubled expression on Cas’s face. He wants to kiss it away. “You gonna be okay?”</p><p>“No," he deadpans. They share a commiserating chuckle.</p><p>Castiel sees him out after they exchange numbers, and Dean finds himself stupidly backing up into the elevator, unwilling to break eye contact.</p><p>“Watch your step, big boy!” He spins around at the voice, a short, curly-haired lady glaring up at him. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she beats him to it, breaking into a grin. “Oh, it’s <em>you! </em>” she says, looking him up and down.</p><p>"Um." Dean shifts his weight uncomfortably, the intensity of her gaze making him feel like an ant under a magnifying glass. "Sorry ma'am, have we met?”</p><p>“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know you, does it?” she replies matter-of-factly, turning to regard Cas. “See, you hardhead? I told you he’d come around.”</p><p>“Missouri, that’s not—”</p><p>“Oh, please. Spare me your rational lectures." She waves him off dismissively, starting toward the apartment. “He’s different, honey. You'll see."</p><p>Dean waits until she's out of earshot to whisper, "The hell was that?"</p><p>"Missouri's a good friend—just a little off,” Cas explains. “She's in the habit of popping in unannounced, usually with stuff I need. Sometimes I feel like she’s in my head.”</p><p>“Lots of that going around, huh?” he remarks.</p><p>“Understatement.”</p><p>Dean's arm shoots out to hold the elevator door when it starts to close. “I’ll see you again, right?” he asks, breath caught in his throat.</p><p>Castiel's soft smile makes him weak in the knees. “Goodnight, Dean."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Blue eyes, barely-there smiles and a sagacious yet blunt demeanor chase Dean’s every thought as he lies awake in the dark.</p><p>He eventually gives up on sleep, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. No word from Sam yet. He actually hasn't heard from him in a couple of days, only now he knows better than to haul ass across the country just to find his brother passed out atop a pile of books, stinking of absolute death. After that first incident, they came up with a system - as long as Sam checks in with him every week, Dean stays out of his unnecessarily long hair.</p><p>He scrolls down his contacts, finger hovering Victor's name as he ponders how much of a dick move dragging him out of bed this late would be. He ultimately hits call - being a pain in the ass is kind of what the whole best friend contract is about, anyway.</p><p>Victor picks up after a few rings. <em>“You better be dying.” </em></p><p>“C’mon, I need to unwind. Jo's pub, drinks on me?”</p><p>A sigh. <em>“Be there in 10. You owe me.”</em></p><p>“Thanks, boogeyman.”</p><p>
  <em>“Will you stop calling me that? It’s tacky as hell.”</em>
</p><p>“Just like your personality.”</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, aren’t you a little piece of—”</em>
</p><p>Dean hangs up.</p><p>The drive to Jo's pub is short, and he parks in his usual spot before heading inside. The easy atmosphere shifts the moment Dean sets foot in the place, familiar faces of other regulars twisting into scowls as they throw him judgmental looks. A couple of people even leave their stools as he walks up to the bar. He's one second from checking whether he forgot to put on pants when Victor loudly announces himself.</p><p>“Deano, what’s u—” He reels back, nostrils flaring. “Dude! You run out of blockers or something? This is Jersey, not Sweet Home Alabama.”</p><p>Dean slightly moves his collar to expose the blocker patches on either side of his neck. “Y'think I’m an idiot?”</p><p>“They must be spoiled, then,” Victor says, wrinkling his nose as he sits on the stool next to him. “You’re stinking up the joint with your king of the jungle musk.”</p><p>“Great...” Dean mutters, signaling the bartender over. “Wouldn't be weirdest thing to happen tonight.”</p><p>It’s not long into his recounting of events that Victor starts rolling his eyes.</p><p>"Screw you, man." He scoffs, sipping on his beer. “Can’t believe you got me out of bed over bad fanfiction.”</p><p>"I knew you wouldn’t believe me...” Dean slurs, downing what's probably his fourth shot. Or tenth.</p><p>"I was kinda buying the whole fatal attraction thing, but you lost me on telepathy.”</p><p>“Ugh.” His forehead bumps against the cool surface of the bar. “He’s so damn beautiful, Vic. You’ve gotta see him.”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Dean catches Victor signal the bartender to cut him off. <em>Traitor.</em></p><p>“Whatever you say, buddy." He pats his shoulder. “Now why don’t you hand over those keys, huh? I'm driving your hammered ass home.”</p><p>“Pffft, like I’m letting you drive Baby.”</p><p>Five minutes later, Dean finds himself scowling in the passenger seat.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Dean wakes up sweat-soaked, multiple pillows and blankets sticking to his overheated skin.</p><p>He pulls himself into a sitting position, yanking off a post-it note stuck to his forehead. “Dammit, Victor…” he groans, squinting to read what it says. </p>
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</div><p>He downs a couple of aspirins then shuffles to the kitchen to retrieve his phone. His friend group chat is blowing up with unread messages. He scrolls past most of it to find what triggered the furor - a video sent from his phone at 4:20 in the morning.</p><p>"Shit," he hisses, hesitating for a second before pressing play.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> <strong>Video playing…</strong> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Whatchu doin', Deano?</em>
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  <p>
    <em>Makin’ a nest. </em>
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  <p><strong>(Laughing) </strong> <em>What are you, 90? Nobody nests anymore, man! </em></p>
  <p>
    <em>‘S for him.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Who's 'him'?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Castiel.</em>
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    <em>You do realize loverboy ain’t here to see that, right?  </em>
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    <em>Shaddup, I’ll just call’im.</em>
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    <em>Whoa, I don’t think that’s a good idea.</em>
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  <p><em>Gimme back my phone, Vic! </em> </p>
  <p>
    <strong>(Scuffling, Laughing)</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Alright, alright! Hear me out. Why don’t you lie down for a bit, and I'll fetch him?</em>
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    <em>You'd do that?</em>
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  <p>
    <em>'Course, man. I'll have him here in no time.</em>
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  <p><strong>(Yawning) </strong> <em>Guess I could use sum shuteye...</em></p>
  <p>
    <em>Attaboy. That's right, in you go. Feels comfy?</em>
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  <p>
    <em>Mmhm...</em>
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  <p><strong>(Chuckling)</strong> <em>What the hell did he do to you, man?</em></p>
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    <em> <strong>VIDEO FINISHED</strong></em>
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</blockquote><p> </p><p>He shoots Victor an indignant text as soon as the video is over.</p>
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</div><p>Dean gets jumped by a 5'5'' redheaded tornado the moment he walks into work. “A <em>nest</em>, seriously?!"   </p><p>“Easy, pokeball,” he grouches.</p><p>“How come I never heard of this guy before?" she presses on, tailing him up the stairs. "I mean, how long have you even <em>known</em> him?”</p><p>“Less than 24 hours,” he deadpans, unlocking his office. Charlie freezes at the door, and he takes the opportunity to close it.</p><p>Unfortunately, it doesn'tstayclosed.</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>Dean sinks into this chair. "Can we not do this right now? I've got a killer headache.”</p><p>"Fine, but you <em>are</em> telling me everything over lunch. I'll order in.”</p><p>"Yeah, whatever…” he acquiesces, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Steak for me. I don’t do any of the hippy-dippy vegan crap you're into."</p><p>"Duh, it’s not like I met you<em> yesterday</em>," Charlie retorts, closing the door behind her.</p><p>Surprisingly, Dean manages to be productive despite his hangover. He checks on suppliers, reviews spreadsheets and sends out important emails. Burying himself in work proves pointless after a while though, thoughts helplessly returning to Castiel. He finally caves when noon rolls around, grabbing his phone and typing up a text. He reads it over several times before hitting send. </p><p>His phone buzzes a couple of minutes later. He snatches it.</p>
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</div><p>He grins, quickly typing up a reply.</p>
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</div><p>Dean swivels in his chair, giddiness taking over as he looks out his office window.</p><p>An elegant figure stands out like a sore thumb down at the garage, gracefully making their way past burly techs and disassembled vehicles. Dean cranes his neck to get a better view, something familiar in the way they move. He shoots to his feet when he catches a glimpse of profile.</p><p>
  <em>So much for acid trips.</em>
</p><p>Dean bolts out of his office and down the stairs, running into Benny at the bottom. “You see a guy down here just now?”</p><p>“Customer? What’d he look like?”</p><p>"Beautiful,” he blurts out.</p><p>Benny snorts. "This cute brunette dropped his car off, but he just left."</p><p>“What car?”</p><p>“Aston, DB5. Why are you—” Whatever Benny says next is lost on him.</p><p>Dean rushes outside, heart doing a backflip in his chest when he spots Castiel across the street.</p>
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</div><p>He holds his phone close to his mouth, tapping the screen to record a voice message. “You want proof it was real?”</p><p>Castiel beams as he listens to the recording, and Dean implodes a little. He places two fingers between his lips and whistles, blue eyes snapping in his direction.</p><p>Part of Dean expects the next moment to go like a Disney movie, with Castiel running into his arms as a 'Happily Ever After' card flashes across the screen. Reality, however, tends to be a bit more anticlimactic.</p><p>Castiel blanches, mouth hanging open as Dean approaches. "Hey, Cas." His eyes sweep over him appreciatively. "Lookin' good.”</p><p>“Dean, how did you find me?” he asks, nervously shifting on his feet.</p><p>"More like you found <em>me.</em>" He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Kansas Customs, right? I own the joint—saw you back there from my office.”</p><p>"Oh." Castiel looks almost embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know.”  </p><p>"Gee, Cas, happy to see you too," he quips, trying not to feel too hurt by his lackluster reaction.</p><p>Castiel worries his lips. “I just don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”</p><p>“What, that you stalked my ass to work? Hey, I’d be flattered.”</p><p>“Trust me, you would <em>not</em>,” Cas retorts, but it falls flat. Dean bites the insides of his cheeks - maybe he’s coming on too strong. “You look good, too,” Castiel humors him, a playful spark in his eyes. “And huge.”</p><p>Dean chuckles at the pavement, feeling the tips of his ears burn. "You uh, wanna grab lunch or somethin'?"</p><p>Cas's face falls a little. "I have to get to work."</p><p>"I’ll drive you then,” he offers reflexively. Castiel opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, something Dean can’t quite place clouding his eyes. He’s expecting to be let down gently when a black sedan pulls up to them, tinted window rolling down.</p><p>"Uber for Mr. Santos?" the driver asks.</p><p><em>Right.</em> Stupid of him to think Cas wouldn't have ordered a ride.</p><p>Dean flashes an understanding smile, stifling the irrational urge to just grab him and run.</p><p>"I’m afraid that’s not me, sir," Castiel says, eyes still fixed on him. Dean nearly chokes on his own spit. The driver nods, rolling his window back up. They step away in conspiratorial silence. "Tell me I didn’t just do that," Cas mutters.</p><p>"You didn’t just do that."</p><p>Castiel elbows his side at that, typing in a hefty tip for the driver before cancelling the trip. "I could use that ride now."</p><p>"Not a problem.” Dean stresses that point with a cheeky once-over. “Seriously."</p><p>Castiel looks away, but it does nothing to hide the way his cheeks fill with color, a small smile playing on his lips. </p><p>Riding in the car with Cas is... intense. Dean gives up on small talk about five minutes in, putting on some music instead. He doesn't miss the way Cas's lips move around the Zeppelin lyrics, head bobbing along.<em> Great taste in music, check.  </em></p><p>Dean gives an impressed whistle when he's instructed to pull up to the Museum of Natural History. "You work here?”</p><p>Castiel nods. "I direct the department of astrophysics."</p><p>“That's gotta mean you get to meet the aliens, right?” he quips.</p><p>"I'm not authorized to discuss that," Cas deadpans. </p><p>Dean chuckles. "Mom brought us to the planetarium a couple of times when we were kids. Sammy used to love it."</p><p>"We're almost done working on a new space show. I can bring you in for a tryout session, if you'd like.”</p><p>"That'd be friggin' awesome," he says, killing the engine. “I'd show you around work too, but there's no beating space stuff with motor oil."</p><p>“I wouldn't say that. I love the smell of it, for one.”</p><p>Dean does a double take. "Really?"</p><p>Castiel nods, delicate fingers running across Baby's dashboard. “This Chevy is quite impressive. '67 Impala, right?” </p><p>Dean could shed a tear. How incredible <em>is</em> this guy?</p><p>“She was busted up when my dad passed her down to me,” he says, pride swelling in his chest. “Took a while, but I managed to put her back together.” </p><p>"You have a gift,” Cas muses, looking over the interior with newfound wonder.</p><p>"Nah, just good at working with my hands.”</p><p>"Well, they’re very talented hands." Castiel freezes, eyes wide. "That didn't come out right, I meant—" he cuts himself off, reaching for the door handle as if to flee. "I should go. Thank you for the ride, Dean.”</p><p>"Cas, wait—” He instinctively reaches out, stopping just short of touching his knee - with how wildly uncomfortable Cas looks, it's better not to push it. Then, Dean's rambling, "You’re probably freaking out about last night, God knows I am too, but there’s something about this, <em>us, </em>it just feels right, and I really wanna get to know you better, if that’s something you—”</p><p>Castiel puts him out of his misery with his lips.</p><p>Before Dean knows it, he's got a lapful of pure hotness all but devouring his mouth, his hands somehow having found their way under Castiel's sweater dress. A growl rises in his throat when his fingers brush against lacy material of his underwear.</p><p class="dean">
  <strong><em>You're driving me crazy...</em> </strong>
</p><p>Cas makes a melting noise that goes straight to Dean's dick. Even as his body grows soft and pliant against him, Dean senses something else looming at the edge of his mind, strained and uncertain. <em>Fear. </em></p><p>He breaks the kiss, startled. "You're scared."</p><p>Castiel bows his head, and for a moment, he looks old and worn. Tired to the bone. “I have baggage, Dean," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I like you, and it does feel right. But I just can't do this with haste."</p><p>"I can wait," he tells him, unwavering and honest. Cas's eyes snap to his with something like disbelief. "I won't cross any lines, and if you want me gone, I'm gone. But I'll wait if you let me, Cas. As long as you need."</p><p>Dean's not sure how long he stays pinned under Castiel's unimaginably vast gaze, but it feels like years. Decades, even. Despite his most basic instincts, he doesn't feel the need to hide here. He lets himself be seen - his fears, vulnerability, and the sinking feeling that if he lets whatever this is slip through his fingers now, he'll have a lifetime of regret.</p><p>"Okay," Castiel finally says. Dean releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.</p><p>“Okay." He leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Not with haste.”</p><p>Castiel quirks a skeptical eyebrow, eyes shifting downward. Dean follows them to find his hands still all up his sweater dress, fingers digging into the supple flesh of his thighs like he <em>owns</em> them.</p><p>“Shit—” He mumbles, sheepishly tugging the soft fabric back into place. "Sorry."</p><p>Cas snorts, scooting back to the passenger seat. “God, I look fucked out…” he sighs, checking himself in the rearview mirror. </p><p>Dean can’t help the dumb sense of pride he feels at that. “Sorry, not sorry," he quips. Castiel levels him with a confused look, hands stilling in the process of taming his hair. “Y-you said, you look…” he flounders.</p><p>“Oh." Cas's cheeks flush with color. "Didn't realize I said that out loud."</p><p>“That happens a lot, I'm guessing.”</p><p>“Foot-in-mouth disease, I suppose," Cas admits. <em>More like cute as hell disease</em>, Dean's mind supplies. “I have to go. Thanks again for the ride, Dean.”</p><p>“My pleasure.” He smirks, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.</p><p>Castiel scoffs, pushing the door open. “Take care of yourself, <em>skyscraper</em>."</p><p>“Back'atcha, <em>shortstuff</em>.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em>“Oh my god, I can’t believe that was him! He's so cute!"  </em>Charlie squeals into the phone. <em>“He said that DB5 belonged to his pops in the sixties. He's going for a full makeover, Goldfinger style.”</em></p><p>"I’ll work on it myself, so let the crew know," he says, feeling the sort of excitement to start a new project he hasn't had in years. Nowadays his job consists mostly of administrative pencil-pushing, and while he doesn't <em>hate</em> it, he misses getting his hands dirty. All he needed was the right incentive. "Nobody touches that car but me.”</p><p><em>“Dare I say, possessive?”</em> Charlie teases.</p><p>He rolls his eyes. “It’s called taking a personal interest.”</p><p>
  <em>“You headed back?” </em>
</p><p>“Nah, personal stuff to handle," he says, a hand leaving the wheel to palm ‘personal stuff’ through his pants - a parting gift from his little make out session with Cas.</p><p>
  <em>“You're just trying to avoid my questions.”</em>
</p><p>“You got me.”</p><p>“<em>Whatever, I'll corner you next week."</em></p><p>“Don’t forget to stock up on food for, y'know...” Dean trails off, hoping she gets the message without him having to spell it out. If everything works to plan, Charlie and Jo will be getting down to mating as soon as tomorrow, and if he knows one thing about heats is you better go into it with a packed fridge.</p><p>
  <em>“Jo’s on it. I’m worried though, they say heat munchies gets worse when you share a cycle.”</em>
</p><p>“Text me if y’all eat through everything. I’ll bring in more supplies.”</p><p>
  <em>“Dare I say, I love you?”</em>
</p><p>“I know, kiddo.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Everybody Hates Pistachio</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>NSFW-ish warning for the beginning of this chapter (there's a nude picture in the first texting panel, so proceed with caution).</p><p>Before you start this chapter, I recommend reading about the mechanism of scent-marking under the VNO topic on the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819067">worldbuilding guide</a> because, uh, reasons.</p><p>I apologize for taking a bit longer on this one, December was a pretty hectic month for me and I didn't want to post this chapter without properly revising it (I don't have a beta, I write poorly like men). Hope you enjoy &amp; please don't forget to drop a comment before you leave, I desperately need that Motivation™.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Castiel’s baby had a real bad day. </p><p>The left headlight and side-view mirror are toast, which will definitely slow progress - original DB5 parts aren't easy to come by. If Dean places an order today, it can take up to a month for the pieces to ship from Europe. There's also some shallow denting and deep paint scratches across the left side. He finds himself grimacing at the overall damage - as far as fender benders go, this was a pretty nasty one.</p><p>His phone buzzes a few hours after he starts working on the car. He pulls out one glove, using it to wipe sweat off his brow as his free hand reaches into his pocket. <em>6 text messages from Castiel</em>, the notification reads. Heart skipping a beat, Dean taps on it to open up the chat. </p><p>The phone slips through his fingers and hits the floor with a loud noise.</p><p>"Shit,” he curses, immediately picking it up, eyes wide as he stares at the now cracked screen. He blinks one, two, three times, and <em>yep</em>, the butt-naked picture Cas apparently just sent him is still there, a couple of emojis strategically placed to conceal his nipples and groin area.</p><p>The picture leaves very little to the imagination, but then, it's not like his imagination could've come up with <em>that.</em> </p>
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  <span class="TextRun SCXW108436755 BCX8"> <span class="NormalTextRun SCXW108436755 BCX8">Realization dawns on Dean like a ton of bricks - he clearly wasn't the intended recipient of those texts <em>or </em>picture. He swallows, unsteady fingers typing up a reply as he ignores the bite of jealously rising in his gut. </span> </span>
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</div><p>Dean racks his brain for ways to fix the situation.</p><p>He could call Cas, but given he just got left on read, chances are he won't pick up. Pretending this whole incident never happened by changing the subject would probably only make things more awkward. Castiel's silence is an obvious sign of embarrassment, so maybe if Dean embarrasses himself back he won't feel as helpless. It's flawed logic at best, but he decides to give it a go, using the front camera on his phone to snap his own glamour shot. He hesitates for a moment before hitting send.</p>
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</div><p>Castiel answers the FaceTime call after a couple of rings, phone mounted at an the angle that allows Dean a wide view of his living room. </p><p>“A nude." He paces back and forth in an oversized t-shirt, a pint of Ben&amp;Jerry's in hand. “I can't believe I accidentally sent you a<em> nude</em>,” he groans, stuffing his face with a spoonful of ice cream.</p><p>"Seminude," Dean corrects absently, eyes following the movement of his shapely thighs.</p><p>"What?" </p><p>"It was a—” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Nevermind. You uh, want me to delete it?" </p><p>Cas lets out a heavy sigh, sinking into the couch. "Well, it's not like you can unsee it, so you might as well keep it."</p><p>"Um. Thanks?" Dean says, exactly like the dipshit he is. Castiel scoffs. “So..." He nervously rubs the back of his head, a burning question in his mind. "Not to be nosy, but who did you think you were texting anyway?" he asks, trying to strike a casual tone. It fails, a detectable note of resentment in his voice. </p><p>Cas gives a knowing shake of his head. “Noah—my brother. He enjoys using me as a guinea pig for random stuff he finds online," he explains. Relief washes over Dean, soothing his rattled nerves. Part of him can't help but feel stupid for jumping to conclusions. “Dean..." Cas starts, worrying his bottom lip. "You should probably know there's no one else."</p><p>He swallows. "You mean…?"</p><p>"I mean there's nobody I'd send actual nudes to besides you," Castiel blurts out at once.</p><p>Dean's lips curl into a smirk. "So you <em>would</em> send me nudes."</p><p>"That’s not what I said."</p><p>"Pretty sure it was, Cas."</p><p>"I—you—" Castiel stutters, cheeks filling with color. "You know what, take it as you wish. I don't care."</p><p>"Then why’re you blushing?" Dean teases.</p><p>"I’m not blushing."</p><p>"Sure you are."</p><p>"You can't even <em>see</em> me."</p><p>He pauses at that, brows knitting together. "Cas, we’re facetiming."</p><p>“What?!” Castiel jumps to his feet, darting out of view.</p><p>Dean bites back a laugh. "Not much of a tech wiz, are ya?” He watches the image shake and flicker before refocusing on Cas's face, big blue eyes taking most of the screen. “Hey there. Lookin' good.”  </p><p>"You look... Well, how you look," Castiel sheepishly offers.</p><p>He arches an eyebrow. "Meaning?"</p><p>“Incredible, dashing, <em>showstopping</em>," Cas replies in a playful tone. Dean's whole face feels like it's about to catch on fire. “Who’s blushing now, big guy?”</p><p>“Dammit," he mutters, hanging his head in shame.</p><p>Castiel chuckles, a warmth to it that catches him off guard. “You’re captivating."</p><p>The hairs at the back of Dean's neck prickle at the praise, and since he's feeling bold, "Cas?"</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>"There's no one else for me either,” he tells him. “Just thought you should know.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s one in the morning and Dean only knows three things.</p><p>One, he probably shouldn't have passed on a nightcap with the gang if he was gonna end up drinking at home anyway. Two, late-night TV sucks. And three, he can’t stop thinking about Cas.  </p><p>They’ve been texting nonstop since the whole nude incident a few weeks ago. In hindsight, it sure made for a great icebreaker. Dean's caught himself smiling at his phone like a damn fool more times than he can count, and while he won't admit it to another soul, his new favorite pastime is listening to Cas's voice recordings, from short <em>Good night, Dean </em>’s to minute-long rants about everyday predicaments that have him laughing like a kid again.</p><p>Castiel is dry-witted, effortlessly funny and a total <em>brainiac.</em> Besides his day job at the museum, he writes a science column for the NYT and co-chairs the Institute for Strings, Cosmology and Astro-Particle Physics at Columbia. He's half-Brazilian and speaks fluent Portuguese, Spanish, French and German. Learning new things about the guy feels like a never-ending easter egg hunt, every piece of information blowing his mind in unexpected ways.</p><p>Dean's not kidding anybody - he’s freaking enamored. Besotted, even. Which is why calling Cas in the middle of the night after drinking through a six-pack is probably not a good idea. But hey, phone's in his hand already, and <em>oops</em>, his finger just slipped. </p><p>
  <em>“Dean?” </em>
</p><p>“Hey, Cas." He smiles despite himself. “Did I wake you up?”</p><p><em>“I couldn't sleep.”  </em>A pregnant pause.<em> “Is everything okay?”</em></p><p>“No,” he blurts out. “I mean—yeah, I guess. Technically."</p><p>Castiel sighs on the other end of the line. <em>"You really need to hone your communication skills.”  </em></p><p>He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I'd give an arm to see you right now, y’know.”</p><p>Dean can swear he hears Cas's breath hitch in his throat, silence dragging on for a few seconds until he lets out a soft, <em>“Okay.”</em></p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>
  <em>“Okay, come see me.” </em>
</p><p>“Like now?” he asks, sitting upright.</p><p>He can almost hear Cas's impatient eyeroll through the phone. <em>“Yes, Dean. Now.” </em></p><p>Dean finds himself behind the wheel before he can even process it.</p><p>He reaches Castiel’s building in record time, pulling into the empty parking spot that will one day house Sam's car. He paces around in the elevator, even jumps a couple of times to try and rein in his nerves, but he's still worked up as ever when the doors open up to Cas's apartment, breaths growing irregular with every step that takes him further inside.</p><p>The living room is limned in a soft, mellow glow from the city lights outside the window, the air of intimacy it provides causing a flutter in the pit of his stomach. </p><p>“Hello, Dean.”</p><p>He spins around to find Cas standing across the room in short, silk pajamas. The sight makes his blood rush to all kinds of places it shouldn't.</p>
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</div><p>Castiel looks him over, almost analytically. "You’re sweating."</p><p>“Yeah, dunno why,” he breathes, holding out the pint of Ben&amp;Jerry’s he got from the 7-Eleven a couple of blocks back. “Hope you like Pistachio.”</p><p>Castiel blinks between the ice cream and his face several times, then just <em>bolts</em> toward him, running right across the couch to fall into his arms.</p><p>Their lips meet with unbridled urgency, but the kiss is gentle all the same, like a storm trekking slowly toward land. Dean groans into it, keenly aware of every second he spent dreaming about this - Cas's body pressed against his own, the sweet taste of him on his tongue as Dean's fingers knead the soft flesh of his thighs, just like they'd done in the car what feels like an eternity ago.</p><p class="cas">
  <em><strong>Everybody hates Pistachio</strong> </em>
</p><p class="dean">
  <em> <strong>Sorry, was in a hurry</strong></em>
</p><p class="cas">
  <em><strong>Next time get Salted Caramel Core or Peanut Butter Cup</strong> </em>
</p><p class="dean">
  <em><strong>Bossy</strong> </em>
</p><p class="cas">
  <em><strong>Shut up</strong> </em>
</p><p>Dean can't help the chuckle that spurts out of him. “Missed you...”</p><p>“Evidently,” Castiel quips, shooting a meaningful glance downward.</p><p>“Sorry,” he coughs, reaching between his legs to adjust himself. “Mind of his own.”</p><p>“You’re ridiculous," Cas deadpans. </p><p>“Whatever happened to ‘captivating’?” Dean asks, mock-offended. </p><p>“One and the same,” he replies, breath warm against his lips. “Stay the night."</p><p>It’s not just Dean’s heart that jumps at the proposition. “Sure that’s a good idea?” </p><p>“I’m officially out of good ideas,” Castiel confesses. That makes two of them. “Maybe we could just… do this?” he suggests, leaning in to brush their lips together.</p><p>Dean directs a stern look to the embarrassing situation in his pants. “You gonna behave?”</p><p>Castiel snorts, pulling away from his arms and tugging at his hand, urging him to follow him to the couch. He gives him a little push, which Dean gladly collapses under, then just stands there, watching him.</p><p>“So are we gonna stare or make out?" Dean goads, mirth dancing between them. "Gettin' some mixed signals here."</p><p>"Fuck off..." Cas laughs, moving to straddle his hips, and it's <em>on.</em></p><p>Even Dean's most debauched sexual experiences pale in comparison to the absolutely maddening thrill of Castiel on top of him, grinding down ever so slightly as his tongue ravishes his mouth. It’s like High School all over again, when having clothes on can't stop you from getting off.</p><p class="cas">
  <strong> <em>Except you're far from a teenager</em></strong>
</p><p>“Dammit,” Dean grunts, parting their lips with a wet noise. “S'not fair, I can only hear you when you’re thinking <em>at </em>me.”</p><p>“Maybe I’m just more guarded with my thoughts," Castiel suggests.</p><p>Dean hums, a hand tracing the back of his neck, fingertips carding through soft, raven hair. Cas leans into the caress, expression much like that of a happy drunk. Fondness blooms inside Dean, threatening to seep through his ribs and split his chest open. He just wants roll him up in bubble wrap and stick a ‘handle with care’ sign to his forehead, hell, even mark him with his scent to fend off any harm he may come across. It’s a preposterous thought, but true nonetheless.</p><p>Castiel's hand slides up from his shoulder to frame his jaw. “What?” </p><p>"Nothin'," he replies almost too quickly. Cas quirks an unconvinced eyebrow. Dean bites the insides of his cheeks - he might as well come out and say it before Cas finds out via lip-lock. "This is gonna sound weird, but y'know how people used to scent mark back in the day?”</p><p>Dean vividly remembers Mom marking him and Sam as kids as a way to warn off strangers. Then there was the side of it he’d only learn about in his early teens. He'd always assumed the occasional whiffs of his father he would catch on Mom were but the remnants of innocent, prolonged contact. He'd later walk in on a scene no kid should have to witness and find out just how little innocence there was to it.</p><p>“I never tried it before, but—"</p><p>“Do it,” Castiel cuts in. </p><p>He swallows, heart rate picking up. “You sure?”</p><p>Cas nods, angling his head to expose his neck. Something about the gesture stirs something old as DNA inside Dean, instinct taking over. His lips trace a slow, careful line up Cas's throat, leaving wet kisses in their wake. He juts out his jaw when he finds his pulse point, flexing his tongue. Two jets of clear liquid stream out, and he uses his lips to coat as much skin in it as possible. Cas trembles against him, hand fisting in his hair as a string of whines get caught in his throat.</p><p>“Okay?” Dean asks, so low and rough he almost doesn't recognize his own voice. Castiel nods in the crook of his neck, completely boneless against him. “C'mon, lemme look at ya.”</p><p>Cas makes a little noise of protest, but pulls back anyway. His pupils are blown wide, lashes drooping low and lips obscenely kiss-swollen. Dean's eyes hungrily follow the pretty flush crawling all the way to his collarbone to find the strap of Cas's top slipped down his shoulder at some point, baring a breast. It’s small and lovely, a pink nipple crowning the perky mound. His mouth waters, strained cock reflexively leaking in the confines of his jeans.</p><p>Dean looks away, clearing his throat. “Your—um.”</p><p>Cas glances down at himself then back at him, unfazed. “It’s just a boob.” </p><p>He huffs, reaching out to fix the problem himself. He’s <em>trying</em> not to bust a nut here.</p><p>The first rays of sunlight filtering through the windows brings them back to a reality where kissing and talking and laughing against each other isn't how they spend every night. In this reality, Dean has to go, only now things are different. It's not tangible or explicitly stated, just <em>there</em>, in the way they move around each other and the look on Cas's face at the impending goodbye - a look Dean knows he's mirroring. </p><p>His heart feels like it's being held in a tight grip when the elevator reaches the penthouse. He plays it off by lifting Castiel at the waist and backing up inside, “You're coming with me.”</p><p>“Is it kidnapping if I don’t complain?” </p><p>“Nah, it’s <em>eloping</em>.”</p><p>Cas laughs, shimmying free of his hold and stepping back into the hall. “Get out of here.” </p><p>Dean leans forward, outstretched arms holding the doors open. “What, no goodbye kiss?”</p><p>Castiel rolls his eyes, but he's smiling as he stands on his tiptoes to capture his lips.</p><p class="dean">
  <em><strong>You on Skype?  </strong> </em>
</p><p class="cas">
  <em><strong>Yeah </strong> </em>
</p><p class="dean">
  <em><strong>Add me—winchester67</strong> </em>
</p><p class="cas">
  <em><strong>Okay</strong> </em>
</p><p>Dean growls when the elevator screeches at the obstruction, hands moving to hold Cas’s face until the doors physically force them to break the kiss. He catches a last glimpse of Castiel laughing into his hands, eyes sparkling with mirth.</p><p>Dean's back slides against the elevator wall until he's crouching down, too giddy to stand on his feet. Yeah, something is definitely different now.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Skype Dates: A Comprehensive Guide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's a little bit of Portuguese in this chapter! If you hover over the text, you should see the English translation. That only works for desktop users, though. If you're on mobile, scroll to the end notes to see the translations &amp; some trivia!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><p>“<em>La, la, la, la take me home, honey I’m coming home</em>…” Cas sings, failing miserably to stay on key.</p><p>Dean stifles a laugh, moving on to the spoken part of the song. He can't even remember the last time he played the guitar, but he still knows these chords by heart.</p><p>“Jade?” he begins, stomping his foot. </p><p>Cas plays along with a roll of his eyes, “Alexander…” </p><p>“You remember that day you fell outta my window?”</p><p>“I sure do, you came jumping out after me.”</p><p>“Well, you fell on the concrete, nearly broke your ass, you were bleeding all over the place and I rushed you out to the hospital, you ‘member that?”</p><p>“Yes, I do.”</p><p>“Well, there’s something I never told you ‘bout that night.”</p><p>“What didn't you tell me?”</p><p>“While you were sitting in the backseat with a bowl of ice cream you thought was gonna be your last...” His tweak at the lyrics has Castiel laughing out loud, eyes glittering, and Dean flubs a note. “I was falling deep, deeply in love with you, and I never told you ‘til just now.”</p><p>Cas puts a mocking hand over his heart, wiping away invisible tears. Dean chuckles, moving on to the next song in his limited repertoire.</p><p>Castiel arches an amused eyebrow at the intro. “Really?” </p><p>He shrugs - Foreigner had its moments. “<em>I’ve gotta take a little time…</em>”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“What—” Dean gapes at the pitch-black, scaly thing wrapped around Cas’s arm, “—the hell is that.”</p><p>“This is Lilly," Castiel says, casually stroking the creature’s head with a fingertip. “She’s being clingy today.”</p><p>“That’s a freakin’ snake,” he points out as if that much wasn't obvious.</p><p>“She’s a very docile python." Cas seems to ponder something before adding, "Relatively.”</p><p>“‘Relatively’?”</p><p>“She can be a little skittish around certain people.” A pregnant pause. “Alphas.”</p><p>Dean feels himself blanch. “Awesome.”</p><p>“Say hi, baby,” Cas coos at the thing, bringing it closer to the screen. Dean instinctively leans away from his laptop, watching its forked tongue slip in and out, beady little eyes staring straight at him.</p><p>It’s disconcerting and oddly cute, as seems to be the standard with all things Cas.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Dean’s reviewing budget projections when Castiel hits him with an unexpected morning call.</p><p>He's working from home, meaning he's down to his underwear and one more espresso away from insanity. But a call from Cas is a call from Cas, so he quickly throws on a shirt and accepts it.</p><p>He can't help but smile at the sight. Cas looks like he left bed but bed hasn’t quite left him, hair wild and a baggy hoodie all but swallowing his frame. It’s a far cry from his usual porcelain doll look, and every bit as gorgeous.</p><p>“Dean, are you busy right now?”</p><p>“Nope.” <em>Never for you</em>. "Sup, Cas?"</p><p>“I need to show you something," he says, an edge of urgency in his voice. Dean perks up - this is gonna be good. “Have you heard about the Rosetta spacecraft?”</p><p>“Yeah, I saw it on the new. It’s supposed to land on a comet, right?”</p><p>Castiel bobs his head. “I was going to watch the final approach with some popcorn and, well. Check this out,” he says, holding up what looks like a sealed popcorn bag. He proceeds to pull, twist and claw at it, but to no avail - it remains unbroken and intact. </p><p>Dean frowns. “The hell?"</p><p>“Exactly! I literally can't get this bag open, it’s driving me <em>insane</em>."</p><p>Dean watches Cas struggle for another minute before it finally hits him.</p><p>“Wait—try tearing it instead,” he suggests.</p><p>Frowning, Castiel pinches the wrinkled bag at the corner, making an effortless tear across the top end. He blinks, stumped, then looks into the camera like he’s on The Office.</p><p>Dean nearly falls over.</p><p>“I’m an idiot,” Cas mutters. </p><p>“No, you're not,” Dean chortles, holding his stomach. “That's called fixation. You were so hell-bent on bursting the thing open your brain ignored other options.”</p><p>“You’re very clever," Castiel says, lips curling up at the corners. </p><p>Dean sheepishly scratches at the back of his neck. “So... the landing still on?”</p><p>“Yes. Would you like to watch it?”</p><p>“You asking if I wanna see a robot land on a hurtling rock in space? <em>Hell </em>yeah.”</p><p>Cas talks him through setting up the live-stream, but the page won't go past buffering. Dean stands up to reach for the internet cable, connecting it directly to his laptop to ramp up the speed. </p>
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</div><p>The website automatically refreshes, NASA logo flashing on the screen as the live-stream kicks off.</p><p>“Alright, I’m in,” he says, sitting back down. No response. “Cas, can you hear me?”</p><p>“Yeah, I—um." Castiel audibly swallows. "We're about 20 minutes to landing.”</p><p>“Awesome, I’m-a grab a beer."</p><p>"Wait!" Cas blurts, cheeks a deep shade of red. Dean freezes halfway out of his chair. “You might want to put on some pants first."</p><p>“Shit—” he hisses, slamming his laptop shut. He digs up pair of sweats in record time, slipping them on before returning to his desk. “Cas, you still there?”</p><p>“Yeah…” Castiel replies, voice small. “For what it’s worth, I like Batman.”</p><p>Dean smiles despite himself, cracking the lid of his laptop open. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>                                                </p><p>“Are you tearing up?”</p><p>“No,” Cas sniffles. Yep, he's definitely tearing up. “I just can’t believe you were ever that tiny.” He laughs softly. “I mean, what happened? Did oompa loompas put you in a taffy-pulling machine?”</p><p>“And we're done,” Dean grouses, disabling the screen-sharing feature. Turns out showing Cas embarrassing baby pictures of Sam backfired, his freckled 4-year-old self making quite a few appearances.</p><p>A man pops up from behind Cas's shoulder before he can protest.</p><p>"Are you wearing one of those tacky pheromone colognes?” he asks, leaning in to scent him.  </p><p>“What? Of course not.” Cas scowls, visibly uncomfortable. “Will you stop sniffing me?” </p><p>The guy ignores the request completely, nose practically buried in his neck, and that's enough.</p><p>"Hey, pal!" Dean barks, giving his desk an audible slap. "He said no sniffing." </p><p>The man flashes a brazen smirk. "Oh, hello there. It's <em>Dean</em>, right?" </p><p>"Balthazar," Cas starts, followed by a string of something fast and Portuguese. The man replies in kind, and Dean finds himself wishing he'd caught up on his Duolingo lessons.</p><p>"<a href=".">Calma, eu não vou te envergonhar</a>," he says, unintelligible, eyes flicking back to the screen. "You're all Castiel talks about lately. It's sad, really."</p><p>Cas hisses under his breath. "Ignore him, Dean."</p><p>“You made quite the impression on my cousin, but please, go easy on him. He hasn't dated in so long, there's no telling if things are still in working order in his pan—”</p><p>"<em>Balthazar</em>,” Castiel cuts in sharply. "Your child is sitting right there."</p>
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</div><p>“You mean <em>that</em> guy?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. The kid on the couch behind them seems thoroughly distracted, fingers deftly moving over his game controller. “Please, he’s in Fortnite world.”</p><p>Cas rolls his eyes. “Shouldn't you be on a date right now?” </p><p>"Yeah, I better get going. Thanks for watching Gabriel, by the way," he says, checking his watch before turning a smirk back on Dean. "So nice meeting you. In fact, if things don't work out with Castiel, my number is—"</p><p>“<a href=".">Vaza daqui</a>," Cas cuts him off, playfully shoving him away. They exchange a few more words in Portuguese before Castiel lets out a sigh, shoulders relaxing once his antagonizer is gone, "Relatives." </p><p>Dean snorts. "He your only cousin?"</p><p>"Not by far—I have a huge family. My mother alone has more siblings than she can accurately name." </p><p>"You're kidding, right?"</p><p>"No, that's Naomi for you."</p><p>Several bits of information line up in Dean's head at that - Castiel's familiar last name, the fact he's half-Brazilian, <em>Naomi</em>...</p><p>“Wait—Naomi as in <em>Santos-Dumont? </em>” he asks. Cas’s lips press into a thin line - a silent confirmation. “Which makes your dad Chuck. Wow.”</p><p>"My parents' reputation precedes them." </p><p>"You could say that." Dean sits back in his chair, sorting out his thoughts. Chuck and Naomi were aviation tycoons even before merging their companies to create the biggest aerospace empire in the world. As usual, that much money and power behind a family name brought along fame, and with fame, a fair share of media attention followed. Of all the questions going through Dean's mind, it's somehow the most trivial one he ends up blurting out, "Is it true your dad only flies coach and drives an old Chevy?” </p><p>Cas nods, a fond spark in his eyes. “Naomi never took too kindly to that. I love my mother, but she’s never been much of a free spirit. Especially after...” he trails off, gaze clouding over.</p><p>Dean feels a pang in his chest. He'd been sorting through the wreckage of his own family tragedy back then, but he remembers the headlines. Hael Santos-Dumont's sudden, untimely passing was perfect fodder for tabloids. Ultimately, the death was ruled a suicide. He can’t imagine what that must’ve felt like for Cas - just the thought of losing Sam makes his vision blur.</p><p>"I'm so sorry, Cas," Dean says, chest tight.</p><p>Castiel musters a small, sad smile. "They say twins do everything at the same pace, but it was never like that for us. She was older than me by only two minutes, but it felt more like two years. She was always one step ahead of me," he says. "I only ever had to be a big brother when she was gone. I don't know how to explain it, but I think being there for Noah got me through it. Between the funeral and the divorce... Well, there was barely any time to feel sorry for myself.”</p><p>"I know what you mean. My mom, she...” Dean pauses, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. He hasn't talked about <em>it  </em>in nearly a decade. “10 years ago, somebody broke into our house and took her life. My dad wasn’t himself after that—it's like something in him just snapped. Then one day, he was gone. No note, no nothing, just vanished. Sammy and I were on our own, and I knew I had to hold it together for him, keep our heads above water.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry about your mother, Dean," Cas says, and it sounds nothing like the usual platitudes he's grown tired of hearing. There's a genuine, heartfelt sincerity to it - the kind that can only be mustered by someone who intimately knows that sort of pain.  </p><p>“I’m still a mess about it, to be honest,” Dean confesses.</p><p>“Hael used to say every person is just a walking mess waiting for a matching one to come along," Castiel says.</p><p>“Think you've found your mess yet?” he ventures to ask, but the answer never comes. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“C'mon, I need something to get my day going."</p><p>“Absolutely—”  Castiel sneezes. “—not. I’m not letting you see this.”</p><p>“See what?”</p><p>“Me. I look disgusting."</p><p>“That’s not possible. Plus, it’s just a cold.”</p><p>“No, this is life, slowly vacating my body.”</p><p>“C’mon, blues...” Dean pleads with him, “I miss your face.”</p><p>“Ugh, <em>fine,</em>” Cas grumbles, switching to video. </p><p>Dean's heart sinks at the miserable sight of him. “Shit, Cas."</p><p>“I told you. <em>Gross</em>.”</p><p>“You're right, I should’ve listened," he teases, not meaning it for a second.</p><p>"Boo, you whore," Cas says, sticking out his tongue, and Dean regrets picking Mean Girls to watch last night.</p>
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</div><p>“Please tell me that ain't ice cream in your hand.”</p><p>“This isn't ice cream,” Cas deadpans around a spoonful.</p><p>“You know that’ll just make you worse, right?”</p><p>“Are you kidding? This is the only thing keeping me <em>alive</em>."</p><p>Dean scoffs, downing the rest of his morning coffee as he heads into work. He finally wraps up a hectic day at 8pm, pulling out his phone to check on Cas as soon as he gets home.</p>
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</div><p>Dean rolls up his sleeves and whips up a batch of Mom’s magical recipe, pouring it into a thermos before ordering a ride. He tips the driver extra for his trouble. </p>
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</div><p>Castiel's mild fever and Dean's exhaustion don't stop them from having their regularly-scheduled Skype call before bed. Cas is the first one to drift off, leaving Dean to debate himself over whether he should hang up or just keep watching over him. Sleep claims his body before he reaches a decision, thumb sliding across Cas's face on the screen as his eyes slip shut.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“The hell took you so long to call?” Dean grouses as his brother's face freezes idiotically on the screen. “I’ve been on red alert for <em>weeks</em>.”</p><p>“Gee, maybe the whole law school thing takes up a little of my time," Sam retorts.</p><p>“Whatever, I need your help," he says. "Remember how you used to obsess over that whole paranormal crap?”</p><p>“Okay, before you make fun of me—"</p><p>"Sam! I’m not trying to fuck with you, alright?" he cuts in urgently. "I just need to know everything you know.”</p><p>His brother pauses at that. “Dean, last I remember you never even <em>believed</em> any of that stuff."</p><p>"Yeah well, things change." Sam arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. Dean sighs. There’s no way to ease into this, so he just dives right in, “I met this guy, and it turns out we can tap into each other's thoughts. It happens when we kiss, and—”</p><p>“Wait, you're <em>dating</em>?” Sam asks like that's somehow the most alarming part of what he just said.</p><p>“Not exactly."</p><p>“Okay, back up a little," he says, straightening in his chair. "Who is this guy?”</p><p>“Name’s Castiel," Dean replies, smiling despite himself. Of course, describing Cas takes a while - dude's like a jigsaw puzzle with all those weird, curvy edges, and whenever Dean thinks he's close to solving it, a dozen new pieces pop up out of nowhere. “He let me mark him, Sammy," he muses.</p><p>“He let you do <em>what? </em>”</p><p>“I know it’s kinda weird, but—”</p><p>“What's wrong with you, Dean?” Sam cuts him off, indignant. “Why would you do that?”</p><p>“Why are you being such a bitch about it?” he spits back defensively.</p><p>“Scent marking has a <em>purpose</em>, Dean. You can’t go around doing that to people for kicks.”</p><p>Realization hits him a cement truck. “Shit, I didn’t—” he curses, putting his hands to his head. “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>“Alright, calm down," Sam says, holding up a placating hand. "You said Castiel is sterile, right? So it’s not like he's actually going into heat,” he reasons. “It’s probably gonna mess with his hormones for a while, though.”</p><p>Dean groans into his hands. “That's not everything. My scent—it's been out of control lately. I’ve been running on five blocker patches and a pill just to keep it in check.”</p><p>“I thought your pheromone levels were always higher than average.”</p><p>“Not this much. It got worse around the time I met Cas,” he explains, running a palm down his face. “I dunno, man. This whole thing is crazy. I thought you could help, 'cause you've always kinda been <em>into</em> crazy.”</p><p>“Yeah, don't worry, I’m on it,” Sam says, looking pensive. “Think you can get Castiel on the call? I could use his side of the story. Plus I wanna make sure he's a real guy and you're not just pranking me.”</p><p>Dean rolls his eyes, pocketing out his phone to shoot Cas a text. "I wanted to check on him anyway—he’s been down with a cold."</p><p>"Cute."</p><p>“Shut up, bitch."</p><p>“Jerk.”</p><p>Dean’s heart flutters when Castiel's status changes to online. God, he’s a fucking teenager.</p><p>Sam and Cas hit it off pretty much instantly, and Dean finds himself willingly fading into the background, something warm spreading across his chest as he watches them interact.</p><p>"Dean?" Sam's voice calling his name breaks his reverie.  </p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Dude Cas hit in the parking lot the night you met, any idea why he just ran off?”</p><p>"I dunno, maybe he's one of those all-bark-no-bite types," he replies with a shrug. "Asshole had me seeing red, I'll tell you that.”</p><p>Sam ponders that for a moment. “Alright, I think I've got enough info for now. I'll hit up the library tomorrow.”</p><p>“How can we help?” Cas asks. "We tried searching online, but all Google turned up were strange, psychedelic blogs."</p><p>Sam chuckles. "Yeah, the internet isn't exactly reliable when it comes this stuff," he says. "But if you guys are up for some digging, I have a whole collection of books on paranormal phenomena. Problem is, they’re all stashed back at our old house in Rochester."</p><p>"I’ll fetch ‘em," Dean says. "Been a while since I hit the road, anyway."</p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Castiel jumps in. </p><p>He grins, excitedly clapping his hands together. "Roadtrip it is, then."</p><p>Dean pointedly ignores Sam's knowing scoff.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations of the Portuguese dialogue for those unable to view hover text:</p><p>(Balthazar) "Relax, I'm not gonna embarrass you."<br/>(Castiel) "Get out of here."</p><p>-</p><p>Some trivia:</p><p>- The two songs the boys sing at the beginning of the chapter are Home by Edward Sharpe &amp; The Magnetic Zeros and I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner.<br/>- Cas's python is a Mexican Black Kingsnake!<br/>- The whole popcorn bag shenanigan is something I got from this <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orEwM2FI_UU">video</a>. For some stupid reason it cracks me up whenever I watch it, it's legit one of my favorite comfort videos. I just needed something silly for that scene and immediately thought of it 😂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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